Trenches
by SleepySama
Summary: The Battle of Khe Sanh. Rated T for Language and Violence. My first Call of Duty FanFic.


*Based off of actual facts (Wikipedia)*

March 4th, 1968

"War changes. So do weapons. But the soldier does not change.."

That's the last thing I heard my Sergeant say to me.

Just one more day, and I'm out of here.

This, hellhole they call Vietnam.

"Okay ladies, this is our last day here in this fuckhole, so I expect some good defense at Khe Sanh. Fifth battalion shot to shit, and we can't get ahold of the artillery teams. We need to secure the trenches on grid Victor Zulu Foxtrot Niner and find those bastards who are firing mortars at us... That is it! You got that soldiers?" Colonel Sanders said.

"Sir yes sir!" the new faces said.

That's what our squad called the new soldiers.

New faces.

Because of their new, fresh faces, unlike us, who were "old from fighting" according to Greene, one of my squadmates.

Our M113 had already crossed several ruined trenches, where what seemed like hundreds of dead soldiers were lying in the trenches.

Their eyes were wide open most of the time, but occasionally, I couldn't even see their eyes because they were covered with so much dust.

Blood and insides were scattered everywhere, and it made my veins chill.

Suddenly, in the distance, we heard mortar fire.

"Fuck! Mortar fire! Take cover in the fuckin' trenches!" said Greene.

Most of the soldiers followed his orders, and fled to the trenches.

Most, not all. Some of them had been hit by a sniper in the distance.

"God dammit we got a sniper out here!" I said.

I grabbed my M60, a heavy machine gun.

Over 55 pounds of weight, on my shoulders, but I got used to it over time.

It was rusted, and I had etched "The Pig" on the stock, which many of my squad mates found strange and stayed away from me for a while.

I had taken cover in the trenches, when I heard a bullet barely whizzing past my head.

The sound was ear-splitting as it was scary, but I had grown used to it as well.

A splatter was heard over the mortar fire.

Someone had been hit.

Looking over away from my '60, I saw that one of the so-called "New Faces" had been hit.

He took a bullet to the head.

The kid looked young, white kid that had no facial hair.

Just plain, blue eyes and a smooth face that had never experienced this kind of hell.

Greene was crying.

Other soldiers were crying also, or praying or making the sign of the cross.

I was no Catholic, but I'm pretty sure that meant that they wanted that kid to go to a safer place.

Mortars were hitting closer to our position.

I decided to take command of this messed up group of soldiers.

"Mortars are nearing our position. We need to leave, NOW!" I yelled over the explosions.

A mortar hit a trench near us.

Dirt and soil and water hit us.

"We need to get the fuck outta here before we get our heads blown off!" I heard Greene yell.

He wasn't crying no more.

He was the Sergeant Greene I knew.

Mortars and debris flew past our heads.

The new faces were swearing like soldiers already.

"Dammit!" I heard Greene yell.

The mortars were aimed well.

I wondered how the mortar teams felt.

Aiming at willing soldiers.

Some were drafted, I had heard earlier from Greene.

We could hear nearby gunfire.

I could hear voices too.

"The mortar teams aren't goin' to kill themselves. We need to find 'em and give 'em hell!" I yelled over the gunfire.

We were in the middle of a gunfight.

What seemed like a thousand NVA troops grew to over a hundred thousand.

They were literally swarming all over the place.

I cocked my M60, and fired into the advancing horde of Vietnamese commies.

"Just like shooting fish in a barrel!" Greene exclaimed.

He didn't feel what I felt when I shot someone.

It didn't feel good.

Ending one's life just to save your country's.

I had hit several NVA troops.

I watched as they bled to the ground, their fellow soldiers not helping them or bother even looking at them.

The battle was just too intense.

"Grenade!" I heard over the gunfire.

A small explosion followed seconds after.

"Arc Lite, ten seconds in..." I heard over the radio.

Napalm fighters flew past our heads and into the distance, leaving an enormous trail of fire and napalm explosion in the distance.

I felt the heat and intensity of the napalm.

"Booyah. How you like that napalm in your face, bitches!" one of the new faces said.

I looked over to some of the new faces.

Two of 'em were hit.

Mortars started to hit our position.

"Mortars inbound, we gotta leave!" I yelled.

NVA were starting to regroup in the distance.

A sniper hit one of ours.

Blood was spilled all over the trenches, and some on my fatigues and '60.

Suddenly, I felt a pain in my stomach.

Looking down, my hand was filled with blood, and a bloody stain surrounding a bullet hole was in my stomach.

My vision blurred, and I heard someone call out, "Shit! Ryan's been hit! We need a fuckin' medic over here! Guys!"

That's when I blacked out.

The good thing was, out of all this, was that I was out of that hellhole.

Vietnam.


End file.
